Trouble at Lone Spur. Roz Fox Denny
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to have you wake him needlessly. Tell you what, after supper, I’ll take a look at the mare. If I think I can help her, I will. If not, I’ll call around and try to locate Dr. Shelton.”
One of the boys sniffed the air. “Something smells great.”
Liz smiled. “Nothing special. Chicken and dumplings.”
Melody’s eyes danced. “Yippee!”
“You got ‘nuff for me and Rusty?” one boy asked wistfully. The one Liz had thought was Rusty. Turned out she was wrong again.
“I have enough, but Mr. Jones—”
“—won’t care!” whooped the twins together.
“But your father—”
“—said for us to be quiet,” Rusty finished sagely.
“Please, Mom,” Melody begged, prancing around on tiptoe. “We haven’t had company for supper since we moved in.”
Liz leveled a stern look at the boys. “We almost did,” she said pointedly. “I mean Macy Rydell’s surprise visit.”
The twins had the grace to look guilty, but neither admitted a thing;
Liz threw up her hands. If Melody wanted company, how could she say no? They were just kids, after all—kids without a mother. Liz didn’t know what had become of Mrs. Spencer, but young as they were, they must miss her. “All right.” She gave in. “Bed the horses, then see if Mr. Jones agrees. Melody, you go with them to make sure he knows it’s me doing the inviting.” For a minute it was difficult to associate the eager little boys with the hellions who’d harassed her for two weeks.
Supper went off without a hitch, even though one of the boys—Dustin, Liz thought—picked the celery out of his chicken stew and piled it beside his plate, and the other fed the cat under the table even though she said not to.
The cupcakes were, of course, the biggest hit. Both boys gobbled them up and conned her into allowing them seconds. It seemed like a good opportunity to satisfy her curiosity about their mother, but Liz struck out flatly when she asked a discreet question. Immediately thereafter, one twin spilled his milk. It was so quick on the heels of her query, Liz wondered if he’d done it on purpose. She cleaned up the mess without comment, and a few minutes later, when the boys insisted it was time to leave, she offered to walk them home.
“Boys ain’t a-scared of the dark,” one twin declared brashly.
Liz still trailed them to the door. “I’ll look in on the mare,” she promised, lingering on the porch until she saw they’d reached home safely. Not wanting to leave Melody alone, Liz suggested she don her pajamas and bring a library book to the barn.
Turned out it was a smart move. Shady Lady had managed to get twisted in the sling. Cold water no longer ran on her injured limb. Liz spent forty minutes loosening the sling and turning the horse. By the time she finished, Melody was asleep in a pile of fresh straw. Liz felt bad about not reading to her. She stroked a hand through Melody’s bangs and wondered if the Spencer twins would remember the cupcakes long enough to grant her the favor of returning the books to school on Monday.
Near midnight Liz thought the mare’s leg looked a little better. She had dug through the supply cabinets and found two ingredients, liniment and DMSO, an anti-inflammatory salve. Some vets eschewed using either or both. In the past she’d had some success mixing the two. Her father always stressed trying homeopathic methods before using steroids. On that they agreed.
Melody slept on, and Liz lost track of time as she alternated the applications with ice packs.
GIL AWOKE with a start and looked at the clock—2:00 a.m? He still lay naked and crosswise on his king-size bed. The last thing he recollected was toweling off after he’d showered and shaved. All at once Gil remembered Shady Lady. He grabbed the clock and shook it. Was that the right time? He’d sent the twins for the vet. Why hadn’t someone come for him when Doc Shelton arrived?
Bolting off the bed, Gil searched his closet in the dark for a clean pair of jeans. He jerked them on, tugged on his boots, then hurried from his room and down the stairs, stopping at the second level to check on the boys. The pair were sleeping soundly in their bunk beds. The ranch house was big enough so each could have had a separate room, but every time he suggested it, they declined.
Smiling at the way Dustin slept with his rump in the air and Rusty lay curled around a raggedy stuffed dog, Gil backed out, closed the door and smothered a yawn. The teachers separated them at school, claiming that otherwise they couldn’t tell the boys apart. Gil didn’t understand that. He had no trouble. Dustin did everything with a swagger, sort of like his great-grandfather Spencer. That kid was a leader, a mover and a shaker. Lately, more of an instigator.
Gil paused on the landing to glance back at the closed door. Sobered, he headed down the next flight. Russell, now, was a thinker. A cuddler. He was also a follower, which worried Gil. He wished he had more free time to spend with his sons. Ben Jones, by his own admission, was slowing down. The boys needed someone caring yet energetic. A tall order.
Gil couldn’t say why, when he stepped outside into the moonlight, his gaze strayed to the cottage snuggled beneath the live oaks—the ranch farrier’s cottage. She fairly oozed energy. Clattering disgustedly down the steps, Gil jogged to the back door of the barn. He counted on the crisp night air to clear his head. He’d pretty well succeeded in shaking out the cobwebs when he burst through the barn’s side door and tripped over the woman who muddied his thoughts.
“Oof!” Liz let out a muffled scream as she fell. She’d taken Shady Lady out of her stall and they’d ambled the length of the barn. She was bent over checking the mare’s sore leg when a shadowy hulk barreled through the door, knocking her flat.
Gil grabbed for her and missed. His momentum toppled both of them to the hard-packed earthen floor. He sprawled over her, as yet unable to get his bearings.
She landed an elbow in his diaphragm, stealing his wind.
“Get off me.” Instinct prompted her wild struggle. For a second Liz feared Macy Rydell had decided to take revenge for the twins’ practical joke. It dawned slowly that she didn’t smell Rydell’s strong cologne; the warm skin pressed against her nose exuded the subtle scent of spruce.
Liz lay still, breathing deeply. It was silly to be attracted or repelled by a man’s cologne, but from the first day she’d met Corbett, she’d been drawn by his clean scent of heather and sea breeze. When good memories sneaked in like this, Liz still had problems accepting the unfairness of Corbett’s early death.
Her sudden quiescence allowed Gil time to scramble up. “What in hell are you doing in my barn at this hour?” he demanded, extending her a hand.
The warm feelings evaporated instantly. “Not stealing your horse, if that’s what’s running through your mind.” She batted his hand aside and climbed to her feet unaided. “Twice we’ve met, Mr. Spencer, and twice I’ve bruised more than my pride. Haven’t you ever heard of a handshake?”
Gil ignored her sarcasm. He’d bent to examine Shady Lady’s trim ankles. It was difficult to tell which leg had been injured. “So, were you here when Doc Shelton came by? I thought the boys would wake me.”
“Your vet had a house fire. According to the kids, he’s temporarily moved his practice into town. His neighbor didn’t know exactly where.”
“Then the ice water did the trick. Guess that leg wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
Liz debated whether or not to mention her home remedy, and decided he needed to know. “I popped in here after supper. Your horse had managed to twist herself up in the sling. I rummaged around and found cold packs, then alternated them with a topical mixture my dad used on his thoroughbreds. I was just walking her, to see if the swelling stayed down.”
Frowning, Gil ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
Liz’s